Devils Among Us
by Eleutherya
Summary: Slight AU: Set shortly before The Empire Strikes Back, the Executor and its crew are sent to the Unknown Regions to escort a political delegation back to Imperial Center. But where these people walk, blood and death are not far away. WARNING: descriptive gore and mild language, some disturbing content. Features General Veers, Captain Piett, and Admiral Ozzel as main characters.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note__: Hey all! So this is my first attempt at a Star Wars fan fiction story. It's nearly complete - maybe 3 chapters more that I have to finish at this time. It stemmed from my fascination with the Empire in the original movies, particularly with General Maximilian Veers, Captain Firmus Piett, and Admiral Kendal Ozzel (even though I still find him annoying. :P) General Veers is the main character in this story, and it's based on the information I found on him on ._

_Sorry for some of the cheesy names I came up with - I'm not very good with names. Please leave reviews and let me know if you think I should continue posting on this story. It may start out as kind of slow, but if you read the summary, it'll pick up VERY soon. So please review! I'd love to read what you guys have to say!_

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**Chapter 1: Arrival**

"Transport Shuttle _Isius_ is on final approach, Admiral. The Ambassador's party will be ready to dock in five minutes."

"Very good. Carry on, Ensign."

Admiral Ozzel's gaze was as steely as ever, but the impatient twitch of his hands clasped behind his back spoke to his annoyance. By his side, Captain Piett was less fidgety than his superior, but there was an almost bored-looking expression in his eyes. General Veers, on the other hand, held his parade-ground posture: back straight, eyes forward, shoulders back, face absolutely expressionless. But inwardly he smiled contemptuously. These Navy officers were not used to waiting; they've never known what it means to be patient. Positioning a strike force with painstaking exactness and then having to wait for three hours until your Navy counterparts are ready – _that_ is patience. Standing at parade-ground attention while Lord Vader inspects the minutia of an army of 10,000 troops – _that_ is patience. But standing in the _Executor's_ main docking bay for a mere fifteen minutes awaiting the arrival of one shuttle was nothing. If the Army had taught the General anything, it was the value of patience.

A warning siren blared from the PA system, the atmosphere barriers were activated, and with an echoing clang the huge bay doors began opening their mammoth jaws. Down below, stormtroopers and officers began filing up in neat, military rows. Techs and support personnel gathered in clusters port and starboard of the landing pad, prepared to secure the ship as soon as it touched down. Ozzel's eyes passed over every detail, hunting for mistakes to be corrected. Everything had to be perfect. It wasn't every day that the _Executor_ received a prominent political delegation.

And not just any delegation, Veers reminded himself. This was the first time that the _Executor_ had been assigned the task of escorting an alien entourage to Imperial Center.

Some days before, the _Executor_ had received a priority signal from Imperial Center. No one knew exactly what the message was all about, but immediately after Lord Vader departed the Super Star Destroyer without any explanation at all. The crew didn't have long to wonder why, however, when a second transmission was received, this time from the Imperial Military Council. Included in this transmission were a set of spatial coordinates – coordinates that would take them somewhere near the Outer Rim Territories. The Senior Staff was immediately called to a classified briefing, and the mammoth Star Destroyer left its routine patrol at maximum speeds. It had taken four days to reach their destination. . . but exactly what or who they were rendezvousing with the Junior Staff could only speculate. But when they arrived at the designated location, they were greeted by light-years of empty space.

Or so they thought. No sooner had they dropped out of Hyperspace than sensors detected a lone vessel off their port bow; no hail was received, but the monitor managed to identify it as the _Isius_, a Lambda-class shuttle. What an Imperial vessel was doing that far out from any known star base was anyone's guess. But they were heading towards the _Executor_ at maximum Impulse; whoever was onboard seemed to be in a hurry. Admiral Ozzel ordered the _Executor's_ docking bay to begin preparations to receive the shuttle, then he, the Captain, and Veers had made their way down to greet the new arrivals.

Through the atmospheric barriers of the bay doors, the transport shuttle _Isius_ came into view. Her landing gear was already down, her long port and starboard stabilizing fins folding elegantly to a steeple over the cockpit.

The monitor tech glanced up at his superior.

"Atmospheric barriers are coming online now, sir," he reported smartly. "Admiral, sir," he continued hesitantly, "may I ask what this is all about?"

"Privileged information, Ensign, is not your concern," Ozzel cut him off brusquely. "Attend to your duties."

"Admiral, with respect," Veers interjected quietly, keeping his eyes forward, "I believe it is time the crew knew what is happening here." Ozzel turned his irritation on the Army field commander at his side.

"General Veers, our orders from Starfleet specifically stated, quote: 'In accordance with Imperial Regulations, all officers are to consider this mission and all its contents classified –'"

"'–Until the _Executor_ arrives in-system at the designated rendezvous point, at which time all restrictions on the preceding information shall be lifted," the General finished calmly, turning to face the Admiral. Ozzel was glaring blaster bolts at him, but Veers remained unmoved. "The crew has a right to know what we're doing here, sir," he pointed out.

The Admiral turned back to the main viewport and said nothing; he would tolerate correction from the General, but he would never stoop so low as to explain anything to a lowly Ensign. Veers turned his head slightly and regarded the tech sitting at the docking bay control station; the young man was gazing up at him expectantly, and there really was no harm in telling him at this point.

"Our current assignment, Ensign, is to transport a political delegation to Imperial Center as quickly as possible."

"A _political_ delegation, sir? From all the way out here?" the tech asked incredulously. "But there aren't any known established governments out this far."

"This entourage does not belong to a system within the Empire's boarders, Ensign. Imperial Center will soon be playing host to a species that, until a few years ago were unheard of." He nodded towards the incoming shuttle. "The Bak'el." There was a pause, as the tech seemed to digest that bit of information.

"And General, sir, how much do we know about these . . . these Bak'el?"

"Very little," he confessed. "The first reports we heard of them were from an Imperial scouting expedition that was exploring the Unknown Regions. Their home world, Tel'kar, is approximately twelve light-years outside of Imperial Space: a binary star system with one planet in a tidally locked orbit. The Bak'el's major settlements are on the dark side of the surface."

"But what do we know about _them_, sir?" the Ensign pressed. Veers paused, narrowing his eyes at the shuttle.

"Intelligence reports have been sketchy at best," he said after a pause. "A telepathic humanoid species that in all appearances seems to be xenophobic. Their technology is comparable to our own, and their government is based on a Caste System with a Monarchial Rule. The rest is all wild speculation. The Empire made first contact with them about two years ago when a high-priority transmission was dispatched from Imperial Center by the Emperor himself. Messages were sent back and forth for some time, until about two months ago. Apparently, the Bak'el were invited to Imperial Center to participate in negotiations with the Empire. Hence our presence here."

"Negotiations for what, sir?" the tech inquired, peering up at the General.

"Mining rights," the older officer answered. "According to the scouting expeditions reports, Tel'kar's moons contain the largest concentrations of Aurodium ever found in the galaxy. In exchange for their permission to set up Aurodium mines and refining facilities in their space, the Empire will guarantee the Bak'el full access to Imperial commercial space lanes."

"Fripping waste of time, if you ask me," Ozzel muttered contemptuously. "We are the Galactic Empire; if we see something we want, we _take_ it. No negotiations." Piett glanced at the Admiral briefly but didn't say anything. Veers didn't either; there was no need to remind the Admiral of the rumors about the Bak'el coming from that part of space. And if they were to be believed, then this alien race was not one to be trifled with. Instead, Veers minutely turned his head to regard the monitor tech out of the corner of his eye.

"Mind your board, Ensign Tiylers," he admonished.

"Yes, sir," the other acknowledged, reluctantly returning his gaze to his control board.

By this time the _Isius_ had passed through the atmospheric barrier and was in its final maneuvers for landing. The loud hiss of the ship's landing thrusters echoed harshly on the durasteel walls and ceiling of the cavernous docking bay. Then a gentle set-down on the deck, the whine of the engine dying away, and it was time.

"Let's get this over with," Ozzel grumbled, tugging his dress uniform straight. Motioning for the Captain and the General to follow, he led the way down the stairs from the overhang to the floor of the bay.

As soon as they reached the deck the Honor Guard snapped to attention in unison like a thunderclap. Ozzel paced briskly up the isle towards the shuttle with his subordinates in his wake, their boots clicking on the durasteel deck plates and the whine of the boarding ramp's servos the only sounds to be heard. About twenty paces from the base of the ramp the three officers came to a halt. Then they waited.

They waited for what felt like an eternity. And the longer they waited, the more impatient Admiral Ozzel seemed to become. Only years of strict discipline kept Veers from showing the same of irritation. But it wasn't just the waiting that was getting on his nerves. Though nothing had physically changed in the docking bay, every man present could somehow sense that something had happened the moment the shuttle had touched down. The recycled air in that vast space suddenly seemed too close, almost oppressive. Reality just felt . . . "off" was the only word that came to Veers' mind. As the ramp locked into place, Veers felt a twinge of some faint emotion travel down his spine. Was it fear? No; uneasiness, perhaps, but not fear.

Veers was not a superstitious man by nature; in his mind the galaxy was a thing to be conquered, every life form in it things to be subdued. But he did realize, however, that there were some things in this galaxy that were beyond his comprehension and control. That was exactly the feeling he was getting from the shuttle; there was something in there that was unlike anything he had ever encountered, something so totally alien that he somehow knew he would never be able to understand it. . . or predict it.

Suddenly a rustle of uneasiness swept over the assembly; the air suddenly seemed colder than before, and Veers only just managed to suppress a shudder of his own. Something – a powerful alien presence – had just brushed over all of them; whatever it was it spoke of a supremacy beyond anything any of them had ever felt, a primal sensation of dominance. Only Lord Vader's dark presence could illicit this same type of apprehension.

Veers felt his back involuntarily stiffen in expectation. A whisper of movement was suddenly heard from the inside of the shuttle, and at last the Bak'el delegation began to disembark. And when the party finally came into the full light of the docking bay, he found himself looking on one of the strangest group of beings he had ever seen.

There were about twenty or twenty-five of them in all, pacing so quietly down the ramp that they seemed more like ghosts than living beings. All were dark-haired and ranged in height from about 1.6 to nearly 2 meters tall; their dark robes almost seemed to swirl around their feet like an unnatural mist. But the thing that made them extremely unusual was there eyes; none of the normal shades of eye color were present on any of them. Variations of yellows and reds stared back at them from pale, expressionless faces. Nearly all were male. They took up flanking positions on either side of the ramp, and then remained as still as statues, gazing out at the human assembly with an air of cold neutrality. On the heels of this first group, a smaller party walked down the ramp.

If the appearance of the first group of Bak'el had been a surprise, the second group was even more so. There were four, two in front and two walking silently behind. The two individuals in the back must have been the chief advisors. The one on Veers' right wore long robes of silver and deep, vivid green with what looked like gold-plated chain-mail shoulder epaulets. His eyes were a shade that was nearer mahogany, watching the Imperials with a look of unconcerned neutrality. To the right of his companion was a Bak'el that was dressed in robes so black they looked like liquid shadow; he wore no other color aside from a single large clasp at his right shoulder. He was nearly 2 meters in height, and he was a far more imposing figure than his companion. His arrogant face held a pair of eyes that were such a bright red that it looked like he had molten fire in his soul. Veers somehow got the distinct impression that this one was not pleased with what he saw.

The other two walked hand-in-hand with slow, measured steps. One was a female of such striking beauty that Veers stared at her for nearly a minute. She was tall and stately, wrapped in a long elegant gown of midnight-blue silk. The trailing edges were lined with what looked like silver embroidery in long, twisted, complicated designs. A thin silver circlet wound its way through her long sable hair. Her only other adornment was an ornate medallion hanging around her neck. Her almond-shaped amber eyes were watching the assembly with a look of interest. It took nearly every ounce of discipline that Veers possessed to force himself to look away from her face.

The final Bak'el, a tall, powerful figure in blood-red robes, could not be mistaken for anyone else other than the Ambassador himself. The Mantle of State that hung around his neck was so ornate that it could have rivaled that of the Naboo royalty at the height of the Old Republic. Eyes the color of burnt umber stared at the faces around him; no one, not even Admiral Ozzel, could look him in the face for long. But it wasn't just his appearance that was imposing; it was the feeling of power that seemed to emanate from him in palpable waves. The very air around him seemed cold and dangerous. This was the one that had touched their minds even before they disembarked.

As the party reached the bottom of the ramp, Admiral Ozzel stepped forward and bowed stiffly.

"Ambassador Selto, on behalf of the Galactic Empire, it is my pleasure to welcome you aboard the Executor." The Ambassador inclined his head slightly.

"It is an honor to be here, Admiral," he returned. His voice was so quiet that it was nearly missed; Veers could almost hear amusement in his reply, as if he could sense that the Admiral meant just the opposite of what he said. The Bak'el gestured to his two companions behind him. "My advisors: Prefect Gayrn," here the man in green bowed respectfully, "and High Councilor Baine." The man in black bowed as well, but with a mocking twitch of his head and a sneer on his face. Veers felt his eyes narrow at him; that one was going to be major trouble down the road.

"And this," the Ambassador continued, turning to the woman, "is my daughter Shakir, Head of State and Chief Negotiator. She will speak for our people's interests during these proceedings."

The woman bowed gracefully, but her eyes never left the assembly. Veers found it very difficult to keep from singling her out in the delegation. She was very beautiful . . . but there was also a feeling of danger hidden behind the veil of her physical appearance. Lady Shakir, gracious as she seemed to be, might become just as dangerous as her father. The paradox was baffling.

Admiral Ozzel turned, indicating the officers that waited patiently behind him.

" Captain Firmus Piett and General Maximilian Veers, my subordinates." Both men saluted to the Ambassador smartly, but once again Veers felt his gaze drawn to Lady Shakyr. When he looked up he saw to his amazement that she was already looking at him. Her dark eyes bored into his with an uncomfortable intensity, and he thought he could sense a brush of alien consciousness touch his. His Academy instruction so many years ago had trained him how to block his mind from unwelcome intrusions, in order to protect himself during potential interrogations. Automatically he threw a defensive wall up around his mind, and the alien presence withdrew. But now Lady Shakir was watching him with a new look in her face: curiosity.

"If you and your party will follow us, Ambassador," Ozzel's voice broke in, and the Lady Shakir finally looked away, "we would be happy to escort you to your quarters." The Ambassador smiled – but it was a smile that for some reason did not come off as friendly.

With his daughter by his side, Selto walked forward to join Admiral Ozzel at the head of the procession, Veers and Piett taking their places behind and to the side. The delegate that Selto had called High Councilor Baine paced beside him. Veers kept his gaze fixed ahead, but he could see the Bak'el smirking at him out of the corner of his eye. The General was used to stares like that; nearly every politician on Imperial Center looked on the soldiers of the military as the underdogs of the Empire: useful in their own area, but hardly worthy to participate in political gatherings. He had learned to ignore such looks and snide remarks, having been to Imperial Center many times in his career. It therefore surprised him that he felt greatly annoyed at this particular individual. More than just annoyance; it was quickly edging closer to anger. There was just something in this Bak'el's arrogant attitude that Veers found greatly irritating.

Up ahead, Ozzel was inviting the Ambassador and his delegation to a formal reception ceremony in the Executor's Assembly Hall later that night. Selto, of course accepted, and Veers felt his mouth twitch upward in a slight smile; the Senior Staff had been instructed to extend every courtesy to the Bak'el, but the General felt very sure that the Admiral had been hoping Selto would decline the invitation. Ozzel's distaste for these aliens seemed to be growing with every moment he was forced to spend in their company.

Veers' smile broadened – the first time he had allowed his emotions to show on his face since the shuttle touched down. It was certainly going to be amusing to see how this played out in the days to come.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: Confrontation**

"Well, I have to say that went better than I expected," Captain Piett muttered quietly. Veers nodded as the double doors to the Assembly Hall closed behind them.

The reception honoring the arrival of the Bak'el delegation had just concluded, with officers and dignitaries alike moving off through the ship in little knots. The evening had gone surprisingly well, especially given how obviously nervous the Humans had been around the newcomers. Fortunately Veers didn't need to be in the middle of it the way the Captain and Admiral Ozzel did; so he had taken a seat near the far end of the hall and just watched. Mostly he'd been watching the Bak'el. Rule Number One in the Army was Assume Everyone You Meet To Be a Potential Enemy. That rule had served him well ever since he joined the military.

To anyone else, there wouldn't have been much to observe; Ambassador Selto and his companions seemed a cooperative group, engaging the officers in innocent conversation. Prefect Gayrn, he noticed, spent quite a long time talking with Captain Piett, who seemed less than comfortable in the other's presence. The Lady Shakir, on the other hand, had spoken very little. And anything she said had been drowned out in the noise of the hall.

But thankfully the reception was over and the assembly was breaking up. Ambassador Selto and his daughter were being escorted to their quarters on Deck 12 by a contingent of stormtroopers, while Admiral Ozzel had departed for the Officer's Suite without another word to anyone. Captain Piett still had duties to perform on the bridge before he retired, so the General had offered to walk with him as far as the turbolift shafts.

"One thing still bothers me," Piett mused as they made their way through the dispersing crowd. "Why is it that the Emperor sent the _Executor_ here for a simple task of transporting dignitaries to Imperial Center? Surely there were other ships that the fleet could have parted with for a time."

"When dealing with an unknown race, sometimes the wisest thing to do is show them your full strength," Veers replied, speaking from personal experience. "In that way they will know exactly who and what they're dealing with."

"General, you make it sound as if the Ambassador is planning something against the Empire," Piett reproved him mildly. "Selto is here to negotiate mining rights, nothing else."

"Never assume someone has only one goal in mind," Veers replied confidently. "That's how I've stayed alive all these years."

They continued on in silence, Piett absent-mindedly returning the salutes of the crewers they passed in the corridor. After a few minutes he shook his head.

"Well . . . perhaps you're right," he admitted quietly. "I just wish that the Emperor had sent anyone but us."

"You're concerned?"

"There's just something about the Bak'el that . . . I don't know. Something that's familiar, I suppose. Like we've met them before."

Veers glanced down at the Captain. That was exactly the same thing that had been going through his head during the reception, specifically when he had sat down at the far end of the hall to watch the Bak'el; but once again the Chief Negotiator had almost exclusively captured his full attention. It had puzzled him. He had traveled all over the galaxy, and he'd seen many very attractive females before – both Human and alien alike – but they had never held his attention the way Lady Shakir did then.

He had frowned at the thought; what was it about her that interested him? It couldn't just be her looks. Her sense of command, or the obvious power that she wielded? No; there were many powerful women that he'd become acquainted with, both in the military and in the political circle. There was something different about this one, something buried beneath the superficial that he couldn't quite put a name to. It was almost as if he simply couldn't help himself, like he didn't have any control over what he was doing . . .

Beings that had powers to control others; he had heard stories similar to that when he was a child. Frightening stories that had given him nightmares. What had those things been called? It had been so long since he'd paid attention to the fairy tales of his youth that he simply couldn't remember.

"The Empire only just learned of the Bak'el two years ago," the General reminded the other, bringing his thoughts back to the present.

"I know that, General. I don't mean us specifically, but . . . from the first moment they came aboard I had the distinct impression that this was not the first time they've met Humans." Veers saw a repressed shudder pass through the Captain. "They just make me uneasy. It's like having thirty Lord Vaders on this ship."

They had arrived at the Turboshaft by this time, and Captain Piett keyed for transport. As the doors opened, he looked up.

"The sooner they leave, the better I'll sleep." The doors closed behind him, leaving Veers alone.

An uncomfortable stillness fell over the General; those last words by the Captain had unsettled him. Unbidden, images from his childhood flashed in front of his eyes. Normally, when these irritating flash-backs happened, they had been memories from when he was a teenager, or when he had first entered the Academy. But this one was even further back. He had been very young – only seven years old – when he had taken a holodisc from his parent's personal library. It was an old holonovel from some obscure planet that he couldn't recall, but he had asked his father several times before then exactly what the story was about. His father had been less than forthcoming. But the title had been interesting, he remembered that much. And at seven years of age, there wasn't any other reason to not look at something if the title was interesting. But when he had taken it back to his room and started reading it, he had realized why his father had discouraged questions about it. The horrifying images he saw there had given him nightmares for years afterwards.

Veers mentally shook the recollection away. Why that particular memory should come on the tail of Piett's statement he wasn't quite sure. But he had been young, and he'd stopped believing in fairy tales and ghost stories a long time ago.

It wasn't until Veers had reached a bend in the corridor that he first heard signs of trouble. Loud, angry shouts echoed around a blind corner about fifty meters away. The voices were not immediately recognizable, but it was clear that a brawl was about to take place. Veers quickened his steps as the volume of the opponents' voices increased. He rounded the corner and saw the reason for the disturbance.

An Imperial officer and a Bak'el official were standing toe to toe, practically shouting in each other's faces. A large group of onlookers had ringed the confrontation, blocking off both ends of the corridor. From the looks of things, several of them were trying to break up the fight, but so far no one had had the courage to step between the two.

"What is the meaning of this!?" Veers bellowed, roughly shoving crewers out of his way. It was as if someone had switched the volume off on a PA system speaker; as soon as people recognized who was pushing his way forward, the loud racket of confused voices instantly died away, replaced by a stunned, mortified hush. Making his way into the center of the ring, Veers finally got a look at the cause for the disturbance.

It was Ensign Tiylers and High Counselor Baine. The young tech's face was hot and flaming, and he looked as if any second he was going to start hitting someone. Baine, by contrast, was cool and collected, but there was a nasty look on his face. He seemed to be almost enjoying the other's anger. The two didn't even notice the General's approach until he was three paces from them.

"ENSIGN TIYLERS!" he roared.

The tech jumped as if he'd been shocked, finally turning to face his superior. After a long pause, Veers narrowed his eyes at him.

"You will come to attention!" he barked sharply.

With only a slight hesitation, Tiylers did as he was told and stiffened to parade-ground attention. The General let the thick silence hang in the air for almost a minute before continuing.

"There will be no brawling on this ship, Ensign. Any further offenses and you will find yourself confined to the brig for the remainder of this voyage. Do I make myself clear?" The Ensign's back seemed to straighten even more, and he took a deep, unsteady breath.

"Very clear, General. It won't happen again, sir." Veers nodded slowly.

"I trust not," he said in an icy voice. Spinning on his heel in a perfect military turn, he addressed the crowd. "Show's over! Return to your stations, on the double!"

As the onlookers quickly dispersed, Tiylers made to move past his superior to return to his post. But Veers caught his arm when he came level with him.

"Not you, Ensign," he murmured. "I want to have a word with you." When the crowd had disappeared, Veers released the tech and stared at him hard. "I must confess, Ensign, I'm surprised at you. It's not like you to start a fight. What caused it?" Tiylers' mouth opened but no words came out; he seemed almost too angry to speak. He glared back at Baine.

"He insulted us, sir," he replied finally through stiff lips. Veers felt his brow furrow in confusion.

"'Us'?"

"Humans, sir," the tech corrected. "Don't ask me to repeat what he said, sir. It's not fit for civilized conversation."

"General Veers? Is there a problem?" a new voice said quietly. Veers frowned, looking around at the new voice.

It was Lady Shakir, flanked by two Bak'el guards.

Baine had seen her as well and was already kneeling. But though his physical posturing spoke of respect, the subtle movements of his head and hands said the exact opposite. This Bak'el had a lot of gall; it was one thing to treat Humans with contempt, but it was quite another thing to treat his own leader the same way.

"What is the meaning of this?" she asked, echoing Veers' same question but in a much quieter, calmer voice. The silence was so brittle that the rustle of her gown seemed intrusively loud. Her dark eyes flickered from Veers and the obviously agitated Ensign Tiylers to Baine's cold, haughty stance.

"My apologies, Lady Shakir," the General replied. "A minor altercation which shall not be repeated."

"It is not for you to apologize, General," she answered softly, gazing hard at the High Councilor. "Not even 24 hours and you are already stirring up trouble, Baine?"

"If there is any trouble here, My Lady," Baine replied in a gravely, hissing voice, "then it belongs to the Humans, not to me. As is typical of their race, if they don't understand something, they become fearful. Inferior beings such as them can be so tiresome and predictable –"

Tiylers tensed under Veers' restraining arm, but a sharp snap of the Lady's fingers silenced Baine's comments.

"You have a temper, Baine; you always have. It will cost you dearly someday." Veers shivered involuntarily. If anyone's voice carried a greater threat of danger he had yet to hear it. He heard Baine's quiet, mocking laughter.

"You still seek to defend them, My Lady? That is typical of any female."

Then something happened that made the General, hardened veteran that he was, nearly jump out of his skin. Baine's face changed into something feral and primitive. He snarled . . . and for the first time Veers noticed something he hadn't before:

Fangs.

Two long, sharp, gleaming fangs like a serpent's protruded from his wide-opened mouth. It was so sudden and startled Veers so badly that he took an involuntary step back. The Lady Shakir gave a cat-like hiss of her own, and the General saw that she, too, had two sharp points just visible between her dark lips.

The tense confrontation lasted perhaps three seconds. Finally, Lady Shakyr's voice rumbled dangerously.

"You forget your place, Councilor," her animal-like growl came in response. His eyes flashed.

"Should I fear you?" he jeered softly.

"Leave. _Now_, Baine," Shakir hissed. There was a new look of steel in her eyes. The temperature in the air dropped a few degrees; the environmental controls must have faltered. Baine tensed . . .

And suddenly it was all over.

The High Councilor laughed.

"Still as masterful as ever," he commented lightly. "Just like your mother." He turned away from her and strode towards the nearby Turbolifts. As he came level with the two Humans, he murmured darkly, "I'm sure we shall continue our conversation at a later time, Ensign." Then with a mocking salute, he disappeared. Then the lady turned to her attendants.

"Leave us. Inform my father that I will return to my chambers shortly." The two guards bowed silently and vanished without a sound.

Ensign Tiylers was positively trembling with rage. Veers knew exactly what was going through the young man's mind and tightened his grip on his arm.

"I am ordering you to stay away from him, Ensign. Do you hear me?" he said sternly. "I will not have you disgrace your fellow Imperial officers by fighting with him. Is that understood?" Tiylers' bright blue eyes met his evenly. The anger was already leaving his face as he gained control over his emotions. So young, Veers thought to himself.

"Yes, General. It won't happen again, sir." General Veers slowly counted to five, then released the other's arm.

"Dismissed." Tiylers saluted sharply, then started making his way down the corridor behind him. "And Ensign?" Veers called. The tech turned back to face him. "No reprimand on your record _this_ time," he said with a small smile. Tiylers grinned boyishly.

"Thank you, sir!"

"You favor him, General?" Lady Shakyr asked after the tech had disappeared. Veers turned back to face her.

"He is young, Lady Shakir, and the young make mistakes. But Ensign Tiylers learns from his mistakes and does not repeat them." She smiled; her smile, unlike her father's was warm and open. An odd feeling fluttered in his stomach.

"You are fond of him, I can see that, General." Veers straightened.

"Rest assured there will be no further incidences of this kind again, My Lady." She shook her magnificent head.

"There is no need for you to apologize, General," she replied gently. Her voice was softer now, almost honey-sweet. A man could easily be hypnotized by that voice if he wasn't careful. "Baine is a clever Councilor . . . sometimes too clever for his own good. I shall speak to him about this later; he will not repeat it." Veers nodded, his previous misgivings about her race coming back to the forefront of his mind.

Shakir must have sensed his hesitation, because she cocked her head slightly to one side and peered at him.

"Is something wrong, General?" she inquired gently. He opened his mouth to deny it, but found him saying instead,

"Do . . . do I know you?" She seemed taken aback at his question.

"We have never met until this afternoon, General." He shook his head.

"I don't mean us personally, but . . . you've met Humans before, haven't you?" There was a long pause.

"Yes," she admitted in a voice barely above a whisper. "Long, long ago. We were not always dwelling in the Unknown Region of this galaxy."

"There has never been any mention of the Bak'el in any historical record," he protested. She arched an elegant eyebrow.

"Perhaps you were looking under the wrong name. We call ourselves the Bak'el, but in centuries past, Humans had another name for us."

General Veers felt as if he'd been doused with cold water. Suddenly, somehow, he understood. The Bak'el's telepathic powers. The way that Lady Shakir held sway over him with just her voice alone. The controlling influence of Baine over Ensign Tiylers. The eerie feeling of familiarity that everyone had felt when Ambassador Selto arrived. Even their physical appearances. And now, that long-forgotten memory from his childhood making sense. The holonovel he had read had been a story about a creature that inspired terror in people in the night, a creature that could not die and fed on the blood of the living. The title was 'Dracula.' And Dracula had been a . . .

"Vampire," he whispered.

She nodded.

He realized he was backing away, his legs feeling as if they had turned to lead. Shakir held up a hand.

"General, not all of the stories you have heard about my people are true. In a way, Baine was right; Humans, by nature, always fear what they do not – or cannot – understand. But we are not what you think." She glanced at the place where Baine had disappeared. "Not all of us, at least." She sighed. "I believe it is time for both of us to retire. Good evening, General." She turned away from him and followed the direction of her guards, once again leaving the General alone.

Veers swallowed, his mouth suddenly inexplicably dry. He hardly found Lady Shakir's words reassuring. But he forced down his fear – yes, fear – and keyed the Turbolift for the Officers Quarters.

An hour ago he had not believed in ghost stories.

He certainly did now.


	3. Chapter 3

_Author's Note: Okie dokie, so this chapter is one of the reasons I decided to make rate this story M. Probably overcautious on my part, considering the kinds of movies and stories that are out nowadays, but hey, I believe in being careful with this stuff. There is some fairly graphic descriptions in here; for those of you that like it - tell me what you think. And in lieu of actual curse words in here, I've used a few that I felt could act as a substitute. (Some of them I find pretty funny.) Reviews are welcome! _

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**Chapter 3: Tragedy**

It was the comm. alarm that woke him up.

General Veers slowly opened his eyes. He had been dead asleep, dreaming about who-knows-what, when the shrill alarm had cut through his consciousness; he had no idea how long it had been going off, but he supposed he had better answer it. He slapped his hand in the general direction of the switch.

"Veers," he identified sleepily. "This had better be good."

"_General Veers, sir, I apologize for waking you this late, but Captain Piett insisted on you being contacted._"

Veers rolled over and squinted at the timepiece by his bed.

"_Kriff_, what time is it?" he demanded.

"_Just after 0100, sir,_" the comm. officer answered. "_You're needed on Deck 56 near the Main Docking Bay immediately. It's urgent._"

"What can possibly be so urgent at one in the morning?" Veers demanded irritably. But he had already heaved himself up from his bed and was putting on his uniform.

"_There's been an . . . incident, sir,_" the comm. officer answered tremulously.

"You'll have to be more specific than that." There was a significant pause from the small speaker.

"_It's . . . one of the Docking Bay crew, sir. Someone's been killed._"

Veers' fingers slipped as he tried to pull his tunic on. The shock of what he had just heard instantly wiped away any sleep that remained; he was much quicker about finishing dressing then.

"Tell Captain Piett I'm on my way."

* * *

Despite the late hour, it seemed as if the entire ship had been roused. Veers had never seen the nighttime passageways look so busy before. Couriers were rushing back and forth carrying messages, techs were brushing shoulders with medical personnel, and everywhere he looked he saw line upon line of stormtroopers. Whatever had happened here had stirred up a hornet's nest.

"General Veers! This way, sir!" someone called, and Veers looked up to see the duty officer wave at him over the heads of the crowd. The hurrying mass parted up the middle to let him through; the duty officer was not, apparently, taking him towards the Docking Bay proper, but rather towards the bay control room's antechamber. Up ahead he could see a dense cluster of medics and the Chief Coroner, Dr. Battai. Both Captain Piett and Admiral Ozzel were deep in conversation with him as Veers joined them.

"Admiral, what's this all about?" Veers asked without preamble as he came level with him. Ozzel looked unusually grim.

"One of the monitor techs reported finding a body in one of the storage lockers about twenty minutes ago," he said. "The fool was so panicked he could hardly give a clear account of what he saw."

"Understandable, Admiral, given what the Coroner has determined," Piett murmured, "and with what we've seen for ourselves." The Captain was pale and clearly shaken. Veers turned to Dr. Battai.

"What have you found, Doctor?" The Coroner, an older officer with graying hair shook his head at the General.

"Preliminary cause of death at this point seems to by severe hypovolemic shock. He's been dead for over an hour."

"Can you identify the victim?" Battai shrugged.

"I'll need to perform a DNA scan when we reach Sickbay. The body was mutilated pretty badly. But we can infer from his uniform that he was one of the monitor techs stationed here, and he was very young."

General Veers froze, a horrible thought crossing his mind. Surely it couldn't be . . ?

"I want to see the body," he heard himself say. All three officers looked at him incredulously, and Battai hesitated.

"Sir, it's pretty ugly. We can hardly –"

"I want to see it!" Veers thundered, and Battai skipped backwards in alarm. He swallowed hard and nodded.

"Of course, sir." He gestured for the General to follow him into the antechamber.

There was so much blood pooled on the floor that they had no choice but to walk through it. Hardened veteran though he was, the giant crimson lake was enough to turn his stomach. Just around the corner beside an open compartment door lay something shrouded in a white sheet. The edges of the covering trailed through the blood, looking as if both were one and the same. But even covered it was evident that the limbs of the corpse were twisted and splayed out at unnatural angles. Finally one of the medics leaned down and pulled back the sheet covering the body.

Veers found himself starring down at a face covered with so much blood that he could hardly discern a face in it. Horrific gashes and tears along the neck and chin split all the way down to the bone, and even the battle-hardened General found it difficult not to vomit at the sight. The only features that were recognizable were the eyes. They were still open, frozen in shock and horror.

They were bright blue.

"_Tiylers,_" he breathed.

* * *

"The DNA scan checks out," Dr. Battai announced, handing his data pad to Admiral Ozzel. "The body has been positively identified as Ensign Braxton Tiylers."

For a moment no one said anything. There was so obviously nothing to be said. Ozzel read the Coroner's report in silence, the shrouded body of the victim just barely visible in the veiled alcove behind him. The soft hum of Sickbay's medical equipment and the muted conversations of the medics in the other room lacked their usual comfort. The death of one of their own had hit all of them hard.

Suddenly Veers spun around and faced the wall.

"_Kriff it!_" he bellowed and slammed his closed fist into the bulkhead.

"General!" Battai cried in alarm.

"I should have known!" he raged, not hearing the other. "I should have kriffing _known!_" His last word was punctuated by another blow to the wall.

"General, calm down!" Piett yelled, grabbing the General's arm. "This wasn't your fault. There was no way any of us could have known this would happen."

The Captain had no idea how wrong he was. _Veers _had been the one who had broken up the fight. _He_ was the one who had ordered Tiylers to stay away from the Bak'el. _He_ was the one who had suspected that the matter was far from being settled. He should have _done_ something about it! The responsibility was solely his.

But even if he had known something like this would happen, what could he have done to prevent it? Locked either Tiylers or Baine in the brig for the night? Put constant surveillance on the Ensign? No. There was nothing he could have done; nothing in the galaxy could have given him any indication that a tragedy like this was going to happen.

But the guilt remained.

Veers roughly pulled his arm free but didn't say any of his thoughts out loud. Piett was watching him with an expression hovering somewhere between concern and puzzlement. The General forced down his anger and self-reproach, refusing to look anyone in the eye until he was sure he had a firm grip on his emotions.

"How was he killed?" Ozzel asked the Coroner. Veers looked up with renewed interest as Dr. Battai answered.

"As I said before, primary cause of death was hypovolemic shock. But it took me some time to find anything else; there was a lot of blood to clean up first."

"And?" Veers asked impatiently. The Coroner hesitated.

"This was no accident, sirs," he admitted softly. "This was deliberately planned and executed. Ensign Tiylers was murdered."

There was a shocked silence. Veers felt his jaw clench tightly; he had suspected as much.

"Continue," he said with a nod.

"First of all, the cause of death was not by a blaster," Dr. Battai said. "No one reported hearing any shots fired, and there were no obvious plasma burns to be found. In any event, a blaster shot would not have caused that much bleeding; the wound would have been partially cauterized. Upon further examination, we did find two small wounds on the left side of his neck, "

"Knife wounds?" Piett asked sharply. Battai shook his head.

"No sir; they were too small. They almost looked like . . ." He hesitated, then waved them to follow him. "I think it would be easier if I just showed you, sir." He pushed back the curtain and led the way into the examination room. When they had all gathered around, Battai carefully lifted the sheet covering the Ensign's face. Mercifully, someone had closed his eyes; Veers didn't think he could bear to look at those wide, staring eyes again. The Coroner put on a pair of examination gloves and rotated the head slightly to expose the neck. There, just barely visible, were two small dark marks about 5 centimeters apart, one on top of the other. Veers felt his stomach clench when he saw it. He was absolutely certain he knew who had murdered the Ensign.

"Doctor, those almost look like fang marks," Piett murmured, bending down to get a closer look. Battai nodded.

"That was the strange thing about it, sir. From all appearances the wounds are small, almost insignificant. But they completely tore through the carotid artery. He bled out within minutes."

Piett straightened and turned to the stormtrooper commander waiting by the doors.

"Commander, this seems to be as good a time as any to hear your report." The trooper straightened promptly, but even with his face hidden, Veers could tell the man was nervous.

"Captain, after having questioned the Docking Bay crew . . . unfortunately we didn't learn much. Ensign Tiylers apparently stayed at his post long after his shift was over. The other techs said he had muttered something about needing to work through something first. After that they had left him alone. No one heard any sound of a struggle. No one saw anything; the Night Shift Duty Officer was the one who found the body."

"There were no witnesses?" Piett questioned. The trooper shook his head.

"None, sir." The Captain looked deeply troubled by that; he glanced at Battai, who shook his head sadly.

"Even if someone had been there, it would have been too late by the time help arrived."

At that moment Sickbay's doors opened. All four men looked over to see Ambassador Selto, Prefect Gayrn, and Councilor Baine stride into the room flanked by two Bak'el guards. Veers felt a violent surge of hatred when he saw the latter's arrogant face.

"I have just been informed of what has happened," Selto said quietly. He approached the veiled corpse almost reverently. "I am truly sorry for his passing."

"Did he suffer?" Baine asked. The words sounded innocent enough, but Veers could hear the mocking tone in his voice. He glared at the other.

"Why don't you tell us?" he growled.

"_General,_" Ozzel hissed warningly. Baine's eyes narrowed, a nasty smile forming on his lips.

"Are you accusing me of something, General? It sounds as if you believe _I _did this."

"Prove me wrong!" Veers challenged. His fists were clenched in rage; if Baine had dug up Tiylers from his grave it wouldn't have been as bad as mocking his death.

"General Veers, that is _enough!_" Ozzel barked fiercely. "Ambassador Selto, I am afraid we will have to launch an investigation into this murder."

"You believe one of my people is responsible?" Selto asked calmly.

"We are forced to consider all possibilities, Ambassador," Captain Piett answered. "We hope that you and your people will cooperate." Selto glanced back at the corpse and slowly nodded.

"Yes, Captain, of course. We will provide you with whatever assistance you require."

Veers hardly heard the conversation that followed. He and Baine had locked eyes. The General had no proof that Baine did anything, but he knew the Bak'el had killed Ensign Tiylers in cold blood. He had somehow made his way down to the Docking Bay control room without being seen, confronted the tech again, and murdered him without anyone hearing anything. Veers had dealt with murders in the past; occasionally he had had to take up the role of executioner. But this heinous crime was far beyond anything he had ever seen before.

They had no proof . . . _yet_. But when they found it, General Veers would gladly take up the role of Executioner once again.


	4. Chapter 4

_Author's Note__: Well, hope you guys are enjoying this story so far. As you may have noticed, this is less of an action thriller and more of a mystery, psychological thriller - with lots of icky gore still to come. Lol! I apologize if you guys think this plot is stupid . . . because I certainly didn't think so when I first started writing it, and I still don't! Anyways, things start to really get going in this chapter! Please read and review! I'd love to know what you guys think!_

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Chapter 4 – Vengeance

The ship was quiet, and that in itself was a welcomed relief. The corridor lights were dimmed to half their normal intensity, simulating an evening calm, and the Night Shift crew went about their assigned duty with a softer purpose than a few hours ago. In space, it was easy to lose one's sense of time, a fact that had taken General Veers several weeks to adjust to after he had taken up his posting here on the Executor. But even with the lack of a normal planet-bound day/night timeframe, he could tell it was late, very late. He had stayed on the bridge overseeing the Security's duty change long after his shift was over. Too long, he thought ruefully as he passed through the peaceful corridors.

Ever since Ensign Tiylers had been murdered, the General had made it his personal responsibility of increasing security throughout the ship, a monumental task that had consumed most of his waking hours. It always left him drained by the end of the day; not just the constant ordering and re-ordering of postings, or even the hundreds of thousands of security simulations he had forced himself to run, but the constant worry. Worry was not something the general did very often, but in this case it was unavoidable. A man had been killed going about his duties in broad daylight, and there were absolutely no witnesses to the incident. Brutally murdered, Veers reminded himself grimly. The duty officer that had found the body had been horrified almost beyond comprehension, and Veers himself, after he had seen what had been done to Tiylers, could hardly maintain his iron-plated expression. No man deserved to die like that, and Veers was bound and determined to see to it that it never happened again.

Of course, he already had his suspicions about who had committed the crime; that hot-headed Bak'el Baine had been stirring up trouble ever since the Ambassador's party had arrived on the Executor. He was constantly making snide remarks about the humans on this ship, and once he had been involved in a near-brawl in Engineering. Baine seemed to take delight in aggravating the crew of this ship, never missing an opportunity to make it clear to others how much he felt his race was superior. Even Veers hadn't escaped his insults, and it was only due to years of discipline and self-control that the General had not replied in kind. But things had gotten worse since Ensign Tiylers' body was found, mutilated almost beyond recognition; he had been young, only just turning 21 last week. He had been the Security Night Watchman for the lower decks, and though the general had only just met him a few weeks ago he had become somewhat attached to the younger man. In many ways, he reminded him of his own son Zevulon. Maybe that was why Veers had lashed out so irrationally at Baine when the Ensign's corpse was brought down to Sickbay. The autopsy revealed that the young man had been tortured and beaten before being killed. The M.E. had discovered two gashes in the Ensign's neck, gashes that – when examined further – were clearly shown to be fang marks. He didn't see any other conclusion other than those fangs had torn open the Ensign's carotid arteries, Even if there had been someone else around, he would have bled out before help could arrive.

General Veers had tightened up Security since then, issuing orders that no one was to patrol the corridors alone. Since the pairing idea had been implemented, there had been no more deaths. But still the general was uneasy. There was still a sliver of lingering doubt buried deep in his subconscious; he wondered why any Bak'el would want to kill a human anyway. Ambassador Selto was here to negotiate boarder rights with the High Counsel on Imperial Center in a few days; they stood to gain not only protection from the Imperial fleet but also political and monetary backing for their own shipyards. He couldn't see Ambassador Selto willing to risk losing all of that over something like this. So either he had other plans in allowing this to happen . . . or else his people were not as tightly controlled by him as he believed.

Veers rounded a corner, lost in his own thoughts, when a quiet warning bell went off in the back of his mind. He pulled up short and looked around carefully; he was alone, walking through a corridor that seemed serene enough. The quiet hum of the deck plates beneath his feet was subdued, belying the speed they were traveling at. In the distance, probably around several turns, he could hear muffled voices of crewers and officers going about their duties. All seemed quiet, but for some reason a cold feeling of dread crept into his mind. Something wasn't right. His dark eyes searched in vain for the cause of his uneasiness, and he felt his hand twitch towards the blaster holstered at his side. He stood stock-still and listened intently; there was no sound outside of the normal nighttime sounds of the ship. He took a cautious step forward.

Instantly, his danger sense flickered, and he ducked just in time as a dark something rushed at him from the shadows to his left. He crouched down into a battle ready stance, his blaster out and tracking even before he had completed his turn. But whatever it was had vanished by the time he turned back, and he was faced with empty stillness once again. There was a tense moment of silence, but there was no further movement. Veers stayed in his defensive crouch, his eyes raking the shadows around him for a hint of his enemy. Then, with a suddenness that startled him, he thought he heard mocking laughter in his mind.

"_Good, General, very good_," it hissed with a twisted approval. "_You're quicker than most. You'll give me better sport than that useless Ensign Tiylers_."

Veers stiffened; he recognized that voice.

"Baine?" he growled, brandishing his weapon threateningly. Again he heard the scornful laughter.

"_Excellent. Your mind is as sharp as your soldier's instincts. It will be a pleasure to break you._" Veers shuddered in spite of himself. "_Why don't you put that blaster away? You won't need it here_."

"Why don't you come out and face me like a man?" Veers shot back, eyes and blaster hunting for his enemy. "Or is cowardice a trait your kind share?"

There was a pause. Then, from his right – where he had been sure there had been nothing – Baine stepped out of the shadows.

"That's the second time you have falsely accused me, General," the Bak'el rumbled dangerously. "You have an overdeveloped sense of arrogance. It's going to get you into trouble someday." Veers straightened from his crouch and eyed Baine doubtfully.

"What do you want?" he demanded. Baine smiled, and Veers felt the hairs on the back of his arms and neck stand on end.

"You _are_ a demanding one," the other chided. "It's unbecoming of a lower life form like you." Veers felt a surge of anger and indignation boil up inside him at the snide put-down. Baine watched his face eagerly, as if he was hoping the General would retaliate. With a great effort he forced back his irritation.

"If you're trying to bait me with your insults, don't bother," he warned. "You're not dealing with a Junior Staff member now." His eyes narrowed. "Tell me, is that how you forced Ensign Tiylers into a fight?" Baine laughed again, unmoved by the general's accusations.

"Tiylers was a weak-minded fool; it was not a difficult thing to convince him to defend the honor of his race." He cocked his eyebrow at him. "But maybe he felt the need to defend his comrades more than the need to defend himself. Unlike another that I could mention."

_That_ got under his skin. There was nothing Veers held in higher honor than the lives and reputations of the men that served under him. He had defended them, defended them for years beyond count; defended them from enemies on the battlefield as well as enemies within their own ranks. They knew that he would do anything for them, and they loved him for it. "Iron Max" they called him, living proof that Humanity was not as lost a race as some supposed. Proof that mankind could rise above the pettiness and baseness that so long defined their species.

Veers clenched his fists, his grip on his blaster tightening as he struggled to control the rage building in his stomach.

"You have an overdeveloped sense of superiority," Veers ground out between clenched teeth. "And that is going to get _you_ into trouble someday." Baine laughed contemptuously.

"I think not, General." In answer, Veers raised his blaster until the barrel of his DH-17 pointed squarely at Baine's face.

"Strong talk for someone at the wrong end of a blaster," Veers shot back, switching the safety off. Baine didn't move; he stayed rooted to the same place, only two paces from the General. But his eyes had a new glint in them now, a look of . . . triumph?

"Not for long," he whispered. His eyes flicked to the side . . .

Veers saw them coming too late. Before he could even start to turn two more shadows flung themselves at him from both sides. There was a brief struggle, during which Veers' blaster was knocked from his hand. A few seconds later the other two Bak'el had the general's arms pinned behind his back and had forced him to his knees. Baine was laughing harder than ever.

"Did you honestly think I would ever be so foolish as to challenge you alone?" he choked. "Oh dear. Perhaps I was wrong about you; maybe you're not as smart as I thought."

Veers tried to pry his hands free, but his captors' grip was as hard as steel.

"At least I was right about one thing," he growled, murder in his eyes. "You _are_ a coward."

Baine smiled, completely nonplussed, and plucked Veers' discarded blaster from the deck by his feet.

"Spoken like a human," he replied. When he straightened, the blaster was pointed at the general's chest. "Perhaps you haven't heard the old saying: if you mess with a wolf, you get the pack." With a rush, Baine backhanded the butt of the blaster into the side of Veers' head.

Stars burst in the General's eyes. He swayed unsteadily from the blow, and for one horrifying moment he thought he would pass out. His vision went black for a split second, and he bit back a curse. But the pain and Baine's voice brought him back to his senses.

"I think, General, it's time we taught you some respect for your betters. Release him." Immediately, Veers felt the pressure on his arms disappear as Baine's compatriots moved to a safe distance. But the General remained on his knees, fighting to stay upright. Baine snickered.

"What? No defense, General? I must confess I am surprised. I had thought you would have been eager to protect yourself. Humans have a charming instinct of preservation." He chuckled and tossed Veers' blaster aside. "I won't even need this." He slowly paced towards the human, looking for all the world like a dangerous predatory animal. There was a feral gleam in his eyes. But still the General remained unmoving. Baine stood directly in front of him and gazed down at the motionless human at his feet. "This is going to be too easy," he said.

In that instant, Veers struck.

Abandoning his façade, General Veers sprang to his feet and threw himself at Baine. The other froze in surprise, giving Veers the time he needed to wrap his hands around the Bak'el's throat. As Baine struggled against the General's grip, Veers half expected the other two to try and pull them apart. But they remained where they were, watching the contest in paralyzed silence.

The General was a powerful man, but Baine was putting up a fight that spoke to his concealed strength. Veers had heard rumors that the Bak'el were among the strongest species in the galaxy, but he had never believed it until now. The two combatants struggled in each other's grip, but Veers had been given the opening needed to gain the advantage. He dug his fingers into Baine's windpipe, intent on choking the life out of this creature that had dared insult him. Baine's struggling was becoming weaker, and before long Veers had him on his knees. But just as Veers thought he might actually win this contest, Baine's eyes met his. Despite his waning strength, those eyes were still clear and focused – and they spoke of murder. With a strangled-sounding snarl, Baine lashed out – not with his body, but with his mind.

The General gave a sharp, surprised cry as he felt his mind ripped away from his control. Telepathy. He should have known. It felt like icy talons, sharp as iron, were clawing at the insides of his brain. Physically he gripped Baine's neck even harder in response. Mentally he dug in deep and tried to push back, to rebuild the defenses he had so carefully created around himself over the years. But the more he struggled the more powerful the attacks became. A vivid depiction of a predator's claws tearing through flesh came to his mind; that was exactly what it was like. Baine was desperately seeking a weakness, a chink in the human's mental armor. When he could find none, and before he blacked out from the General's chokehold, Baine wrapped his whole consciousness around Vees' mind and savagely tightened his grip.

Veers' defenses imploded, and Baine seized his chance.

Veers reeled back blindly as a dark curtain dropped over his eyes. Baine was in control of him now, and the General could feel the Bak'el's icy telepathic claws raking the inside of his skull, forcing him to release his death grip on the other's throat. But Baine didn't stop there. Veers felt his consciousness pierced by a tendril from Baine's mind, then ruthlessly torn apart. With a rush like a rising river all of his thoughts came spilling up; his memories, his hopes, his darkest fears, all were laid bare before his enemy's mental gaze. Images from his past, his most private memories, were wrenched from his subconscious with frightening ease. Every paralyzing fear, every horrific nightmare both real and imagined were pulled to the forefront of his mind. Baine was forcing him to relive every dark moment in his life. Veers was rocked to his soul.

Never, not even from Darth Vader, had his mind been so thoroughly ravaged the way Baine was now. Badly shaken, Veers backed away until he reached the corridor wall.

But if Baine wasn't going to let the General kill him, he certainly was not about to let him get away. The Bak'el reached out to ensnare Veers' body as well. Suddenly excruciating pain exploded in his head. Veers screamed. He couldn't help it; he had never felt this kind of agony ever before in his life. He collapsed to the deck, desperately fighting against Baine's hold on him, fighting against the pain, against the fear being forced on him. But it was no use; Baine was much stronger, and every feeble attempt at defense was deftly swatted away.

Finally, after what felt like centuries of agony, the mental and physical pain eased.

"Sneak attack," Baine spoke at last, his voice hoarse. Through the veil of lingering pain, Veers felt a twinge of satisfaction when he saw the other massage his throat nervously. In spite of the other's superior strength, Veers had shaken him as well. "Very good, General. You made it look convincing. Unfortunately for you, that's one more insult added to your crimes. I shall have to punish you for that as well."

"Is this," Veers gasped, his rage rising to match the level of his pain, "how you prove . . . your superiority? With a . . . a telepathic violation?"

"Take care, General," Baine warned, and Veers winced as he felt the mental pressure begin to return. "You are under the delusion that all sentient beings are obligated to fight fairly. But if you seek to destroy your enemy, you must use every method at your disposal. You're a soldier; you know this better than most."

"I never resort . . . to a cowardly –" He broke off with strangled cry as Baine bore down him again.

"Oh no?" he challenged. "Your memories say otherwise. Wasn't there something that happened on Corridia about six months ago? Something about . . . shooting a man in the back . . ?"

"Shut _up!_" Veers demanded, desperately trying to block the other's intrusion into the darkest corners of his mind.

"Enough!" Bain bellowed. "The talking is over. It's time for your lesson to begin."

As if it were possible, the pain increased ten-fold. Every nerve ending was on fire, his limbs felt as if they were being ripped from his body. But the physical pain was nothing compared to the telepathic attack Baine launched. Veers, half-mad with horror, writhed on the deck helplessly. Ordinarily pain on this level would have been quickly followed by the welcome release of unconsciousness. But Baine wasn't so merciful as to let his victim's suffering end. He kept up his attacks, careful to hold them just below the threshold of blacking out.

"Scream all you want, human," Veers heard the voice in his mind ringing with sadistic pleasure. "No one will hear you. My friends are seeing to that." Veers was almost to the point of begging for mercy, when suddenly a new voice rang out.

"Baine?! _What are you doing?!_"

With an abruptness that Veers found hard to believe, the agony and mental torture ceased; he felt Baine's icy grip vanish from his sub-consciousness. It was as if someone had grabbed hold of his assailant and violently flung him away. Trembling and gasping for air, Veers forced himself to look at the new arrival.

It was Lady Shakir.

Baine slowly turned away from his prey and faced the smaller female and bowed grudgingly out of respect. Shakir's aura was positively electrifying; her dark eyes were as hard as flint, and every step she took was forceful and agitated, betraying her fury at the other. Her long blood-red robes seemed to swirl around her like a storm as she quickly stepped between Baine and Veers.

"Answer me, Baine," she commanded in a voice more dangerous than Baine's had been. "_What are you doing?_"

"Merely having a conversation with General Veers, My Lady. It's of no concern to you."

Shakir glanced down at Veers, her eyes searching his countenance and, no doubt, his mind as well. A feather-light touch brushed his raw consciousness gently, then quickly withdrew.

"What have you done to him?" she demanded, her voice trembling with rage and . . . was that concern Veers heard as well?

"I was merely teaching him to think before he seeks to challenge one of us," Baine answered, no hint of remorse in his voice. "He insisted on fighting, and I was not about to talk him out of it."

Baine suddenly jerked as if he'd been struck. But Shakir hadn't moved.

"You have a nasty temper, Baine," she scolded harshly. "It's going to get us _all _into trouble with the Humans if you're not careful."

"And why should we care about the Humans?" Baine demanded angrily. "We are far more powerful than they could ever hope to be! It wouldn't take much; we could easily overcome all of them, force them to do our bidding –"

"That is _NOT_ what my father wants!" the lady snapped. "Nor do I. Their Emperor is not one to be trifled with. We may be stronger than the whole Human race, but he could easily purge us from the galaxy if we anger him." There was a long pause. "You've already killed one man, Baine. You will not do it again."

_I knew it!_ Veers thought triumphantly. Baine's eyes immediately locked with his, and Veers knew he had heard him. His gaze went back to the lady's.

"Is that a threat, Lady Shakir?" Baine asked quietly. Veers held his breath. Surely he wouldn't attack the Ambassador's daughter?

"If you touch him again," she continued blackly, "I will personally escort you to the gates of hell."

"So it IS a threat!" Baine roared. "Don't think you can challenge me, Shakir! Your father may be the Ambassador, but I am not bound to do _your_ bidding. I'll do as I please. And it pleases me to finish what I started." He started to move passed her . . .

A bellow of pain tore through the tense atmosphere as Baine was flung backwards away from Veers. He felt the power emanating from the younger Bak'el and suppressed a shudder. Her telepathic powers were ten times that of Baine's, and she was wielding them with terrifying swiftness. But while Shakir was the strongest mentally, Baine was physically stronger. His strike came with lightning speed, too fast for Veers to catch. Shakir reeled back, kneeling on the deck beside the General.

"You _DARE_ lay a hand on me?!" she cried, utterly outraged.

"You have no authority over me," Baine hissed.

"My father would kill you if he learned of this." Baine laughed: a maniacal, barking laugh that made Veers shiver.

"I'll deal with your father later. But first, the human." He took a step forward.

"Don't touch him, Baine!"

"Get away from him, Shakir! I want to finish what I started." Baine's menacing presence began to engulf Veers' mind again, and the General braced himself for the inevitable tidal wave.

"Then you're leaving me no choice," she whispered quietly.

She quickly turned to face Veers, an odd look in her eyes. Fear crept up inside him once again. He wasn't sure which was worse: Baine's threat of torture, or the Lady Shakir's ominous words. Before he could move away from her she had pressed her left palm to his chest, pinning him to the wall helplessly.

Her mind brushed his again, and Veers felt an uncomfortable tightness building in his chest that had nothing to do with Baine's previous attacks. Her eyes locked to his brown ones, and she took a deep breath. She whispered something that sounded menacing, but in a language Veers had never heard before.

Instantly the tightness increased, as if Shakir was literally crushing his heart. Her hand suddenly felt like a hot branding iron against his chest, and he cried out in a very different sort of pain.

"_NO!_" Enraged, Baine rushed forward to separate the two. But the instant his hand closed on Veers' wrist, two things happened. The Bak'el gave an earsplitting shriek of pain and snapped his hand back as if he'd been burned. Following on the heels of his outcry, Veers felt him force his way into his mind again, determined this time to either kill the General or drive him to madness. But no sooner had he seized his tattered psyche than both felt the overwhelming presence of Shakir. She easily blocked Baine's assault, shielding Veers with a warmth and gentleness he wouldn't have thought possible.

In less than three seconds, it was all over.

Baine, cowed and subdued at last, stumbled back from the pair. Shock and disbelief had taken the place of his rage, and he stared at Shakir in numb silence.

"_What have you done?_" he whispered in horror.

Veers felt a rush of foreboding almost as searing as the pain in his chest.

"Too late, Baine," Shakir whispered menacingly. "The Human is mine now."


	5. Chapter 5

_Author's Note__: Thanks for the reviews so far, people! It's encouraging to know that there are readers out there who appreciate my work. Now, on to this update: unfortunately, there's not a lot of action going on here, just some background information and plot-building bits. But I hope you find it interesting. Read and review, please! :D_

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Chapter 5: Branded

"Other than heightened levels of adrenaline, sir," the doctor said quietly, "there's nothing wrong with you."

General Veers closed his eyes and sighed, the M.E.'s prognosis a welcomed relief, and sat up on the diagnostic table.

As soon as Baine had left, Lady Shakir had immediately summoned a medical team to see to the General. Though she had never left his side and was clearly concerned for Veers' well-being, she did so with an air of eerie calm. The same could not be said for the others that had been summoned to Sickbay.

The Night Shift M.E. had immediately contacted both Admiral Ozzel and Captain Piett as soon as he learned of the attack. The Admiral was livid, demanding to know who had done this and at what provocation. He had been less than civil to Lady Shakir, but considering the circumstances she didn't take offense at his behavior. The Captain, however, said very little; he continued to watch the bioscanner's data, his face completely passive. But everyone could tell by the stiff manner he held himself in that he was just as outraged as his superior. Shakir had answered all of their questions in a quiet, soothing tone, explaining what had happened in exact detail. Veers noted, however, that she said nothing about the last part, the part where she and Baine had grappled between themselves.

The thought disturbed him; what was she hiding? Baine would not have been so completely shocked by her actions if it hadn't been something either dangerous or forbidden.

Ozzel turned to face the M.E.

"Commander, your report," he said curtly. The other saluted smartly and handed the Admiral his data pad.

"Physically, sir, he's perfectly fine. We couldn't find evidence of trauma or assault. However, we have noted a few anomalies on his brain scan. The prefrontal cortex and hippocampus seem to be in a state of hyper-stimulation, here and here." He pointed to the indicated locations on the mainframe bioscanner. "I really don't know what the cause could be, but neurotransmitter activity is off the scale."

"Sounds to me like it was more of a telepathic attack than a physical assault," Piett spoke up quietly, an ugly look in his eyes.

"It was both," Shakir corrected quietly. "Telepathy can extend beyond the mind, if one knows how." She sighed. "However, I regret to say that the General brought this upon himself."

"_What?!_" Veers exclaimed. This was an outrage! The very idea that this had been his fault . . .

"If you had not foolishly accused Baine of murder the other day he would have had no reason to seek revenge against you."

"He _admitted_ that he killed Ensign Tiylers! He practically crowed it to the galaxy!"

"But did you help?" she chided. "Did your accusations bring your officer back from the dead? Did it ease his passing? Did it bring about justice? Did it in any way aid the situation?" She added in a much gentler tone, "Antagonizing him has only made everything worse." Veers could offer no retort, so he fixed her with his coldest glare.

"Someone's going to have a hell of a lot of explaining to do," Ozzel stormed, towering over the female. "Two attacks in two days; one man is dead, the other barely escaped with his life. I'm not willing to continue risking the lives of my crew, Lady Shakir."

"Nor would I expect you to," she murmured, half to herself.

"Where is the Ambassador?" Ozzel demanded, ignoring her comment.

"My father has been informed of this incident, and I expect him to arrive soon."

"As for the General," Piett interrupted, turning back to the M.E, "there was no actual harm done, was there?" The Commander shook his head.

"No sir. There shouldn't be any lasting effects from this; it won't interfere with the General's duties."

"One bright spot," Veers muttered, rubbing his eyes.

"Medically-speaking," the M.E. continued, "we can't really do anything to correct the indicated anomalies. The physical symptoms we can treat, but this is going to take some . . . creative thinking."

"In that, at least, I can help," Shakir replied. She reached out and gently touched the general's arm. Veers felt her psyche gently probe his battered consciousness, a gossamer tendril of emotion. Instinctively he tried to draw up his own defenses, but he was so tired that they didn't even twitch. He felt a flicker of emotion from the Bak'el, like a silent request for his permission to enter. Mentally he sighed. He didn't have the energy to fight her anyway; he was tired of these mind games. After a second or two, Shakir had wrapped her awareness around his, calming the emotions and memories that still raged inside his brain. With gentle gracefulness, she started building back up his mental wall, the iron plates he had fashioned around his mind since he joined the military. For the first time in days Veers felt relaxed and in control of his own faculties. How she was doing all of this he had no idea. He glanced over at her; her eyes were closed, the muscles in her face so relaxed that she was devoid of any expression whatsoever.

"Unbelievable," the M.E. whispered. He was staring at the bioscanner display in disbelief. "The anomalies are gone." He looked at Shakir for the answer his science could not explain. "How did you do that?" Shakir opened her eyes and looked at him but did not answer. Before anything else could be said, her gaze suddenly jerked towards Sickbay's main doors.

Seconds later, the semi-transparent doors slid open with a gentle rush and Ambassador Selto burst into the room. Veers inhaled sharply when he saw the look on the other's face. He was beyond angry; he was livid. If the fires of Hades could take solid form, it would have taken the form of Ambassador Selto in that moment. Selto's presence was so imposing that those assembled hardly noticed that a second Bak'el had entered behind the Ambassador. Veers recognized the smaller man as Prefect Gayrn, Selto's chief advisor. At a glance from Selto, Gayrn stood by the doors at a discrete distance.

The Bak'el's evident wrath seemed to have stunned Admiral Ozzel into silence. All eyes were fixed on Selto with a sense of dread, none more so than Shakir. Veers could feel the hand on his arm trembling. But whatever fear she was feeling did not make its way into her expression.

"Baine informed me of what just happened," Selto began sharply, not giving the humans time to speak. The first glimmer of fear suddenly bloomed in Shakir's eyes as Selto approached. "At first I didn't believe him, but now . . ." There was a deadly pause. "I have to see this for myself." In one quick movement Selto had seized General Veers and pulled his uniform tunic open.

"Ambassador, what – !" Ozzel began, but the rest of his words died unsaid.

"Sithspawn," the M.E. breathed. "What the hell is that?"

A cold silence descended over the entire room, as each wondered if he was seeing things. For almost an entire minute, no one moved, no one blinked, no one breathed. Then Selto slowly released his hold on Veers and took a step back. His gaze was set in stone; he seemed too angry to speak. For there – where they had all felt sure nothing had been before – emblazoned on the general's chest like that of a branding iron, was a strange, complicated, twisted symbol. Its blackened edges stood out in stark contrast to the healthy flesh around it. Veers, only half aware of what he was doing, touched the mark gingerly, as if to assure himself that he wasn't hallucinating. He glanced up at Shakir. She was backing away, her eyes flickering fearfully between the humans and her father.

Suddenly, Veers did a double-take as he noticed what was hanging around her neck; the pattern in his skin and the pattern of her medallion were an exact match. Understanding blazed in his mind. Finally, the last elusive piece to the puzzle had fallen into place.

With an inhuman roar, Selto abruptly whirled on his daughter and struck her a blow so vicious that it sent her sprawling on the deck.

"Ambassador! Contain yourself!" Ozzel burst out in a shocked voice. Selto ignored him, advancing towards his cowering daughter. She had not even tried to get up, but remained trembling on the floor.

"**HOW DARE YOU!**" he bellowed. Shakir was so frightened she was practically in tears.

"Father, I –" she began in a weak voice, but Selto cut her off.

"**YOU ****_MARKED_**** HIM?!**" The others looked on with stunned, bewildered expressions. Gayrn, still standing by the door, glanced at the confrontation, then turned his gaze to stare out the doors.

"I had no choice!" Shakyr sobbed. Veers could hear the air scraping in and out of her lungs.

"**YOU HAD ****_NO RIGHT!_**" Selto thundered. He was towering over her now, a pillar of pure rage.

"If I hadn't done it, Baine would have killed him! Did he tell you that?" she demanded, a touch of defiance in her voice.

Selto visibly hesitated. Quickly, Shakir explained everything that happened earlier that night, this time including her part in the ordeal. After she was through, Selto shook his head.

"Baine is a hot-headed fool, but I doubt even he would go that far."

"Father, he's killed once before," Shakir reminded him in a subdued voice. "He would have done so again if I hadn't arrived when I did."

Selto suddenly looked unsure of himself and checked his reply. He turned to Veers with a thoughtful expression.

"Is this true?" he asked softly. Veers nodded slowly. Selto considered that, gazing at something Veers couldn't see. At last he shook himself and faced Admiral Ozzel.

"Admiral, let me assure you that nothing like this has happened in ages beyond count."

"No offense, sir," the M.E. spoke up, sounding a little indignant, "but you said the exact same thing a few days ago. Apparently, nothing's changed."

"It may be, Ambassador," Piett said calmly – calmly, but with a biting edge – "that you do not have your people under as tight a leash as you thought." Selto nodded slowly.

"Perhaps not," he conceded. He took a deep breath and straightened himself. "Gentlemen, there is no excuse for what Baine has done. Rest assured he will be punished, and severely. Unfortunately, my daughter," here he glared down at Shakir, "has committed the greater sin."

"What does that mean, 'the greater sin'?" the M.E. demanded, quickly looking down at his charge. The Ambassador didn't reply, but continued to stare at his daughter with an unnerving intensity.

"I had no choice," she whimpered softly. "I only did it for his protection."

"I wonder . . ." he rumbled menacingly, but he didn't continue his thought. Instead he nodded at her. "Very well, then. His life is now your responsibility." Here he seized her by the hair and pulled her face back until she was staring into his eyes. "See to it that it does not happen again," he hissed. No one could mistake the threat in his voice. He roughly flung her back down to the deck and walked back to the doors. As they slid open he turned to Gayrn. "Escort her back to her quarters when they are finished here." Gayrn bowed respectfully and Selto disappeared into the outside corridor.

As soon as the doors hissed shut behind him, Captain Piett moved to help Shakir up off the deck.

"Are you alright?" he asked quietly. She nodded silently in return, but it was plain that she wasn't alright. She was even paler than usual, and her aura of calm and confidence had been ripped from her.

"What the bloody kark was that all about? Where did that mark come from?" Ozzel demanded roughly, pointing to Veers' chest.

"And what did the Ambassador mean when he said you'd committed the greater sin?" the M.E. challenged.

"Lady Shakir, I think you owe all of us – especially General Veers – an explanation," Piett agreed, an edge creeping back into his voice.

For the first time since he had met her, Veers honestly felt sorry for Shakir. He was just as angered and confused as the others, but whatever she had done she did not deserve to be handled so roughly. She still seemed stunned by what had just happened, and their questions fell on deaf ears. When she didn't answer them, Veers cleared his throat.

"Let's start at the beginning," he prompted gently. "Why was your father so angry?"

Her mouth opened and shut several times, but no words came. Finally, she choked out,

"I . . . I marked you."

"But if you did it for my protection, why should he be upset?" he probed. Her eyes met his, but he only saw fear and uncertainty.

"B . . . because it's . . ." she stammered.

"Because it's forbidden," Gayrn finished, silently gliding forward. "Such a thing hasn't happened in over 2,000 years."

"What hasn't happened?" the M.E. insisted, sounding exasperated. Gayrn ignored him. He had stopped directly in front of Veers and was staring hard at the mark on his bare chest. He reached out and gently pressed the tip of his forefinger against the center of the symbol, a curiously reverent look on his face.

"_Notam'Esse_," he murmured. "Roughly translated 'Brand of Belonging.'" He let his hand fall and raised his eyes to Veers'. "It's a mark of ownership."

"Ownership?" Ozzel repeated sharply. "What exactly does that mean?" Again, the question was ignored as Gayrn addressed the patient directly.

"General, by placing this seal on you, Shakir has claimed you as her ward. Everything that makes you who you are belongs to her: your body, your mind, even your soul."

"So she . . . controls him now?" the M.E. asked, sounding thoroughly disgusted. But Gayrn nodded at Veers' chest.

"Does it burn still?" he inquired. Veers' mind flashed back to when Shakir had first branded him; the searing heat had been so intense he thought it had burned straight through his heart. The memory was so real that his hand drifted to his chest unconsciously.

"No," he denied. Gayrn watched him for a few seconds longer, and Veers wondered just how much the Bak'el could glean from his expressions alone. Then he looked back at the other three.

"She cannot control him," he explained. "Not yet, at least. The seal hasn't been activated."

"Activated?" Piett echoed, his brow furrowed in thought. "What is it, some kind of technological imprinting?" Gayrn shrugged slightly.

"More or less. Each Bak'el has a mark that is unique to them alone; think of it as a telepathic fingerprint. That medallion Shakir wears is an exact replica of her own seal. Thousands of years ago it was used as a . . . well, as a sort of mating rite when selecting an individual outside of our race. It was a sign to other Bak'el that the person was already owned."

"Like an animal marking its territory," the M.E. muttered, his voice absolutely dripping with revulsion. Gayrn cocked an eyebrow.

"Crudely expressed, but essentially accurate," he agreed. "Once the seal has been placed, no other Bak'el can claim that person as their own."

"Which explains why Baine couldn't touch me," Veers nodded.

"Exactly," Gayrn agreed. "The seal itself is basically harmless. Through it, a Bak'el can influence thoughts and emotions, but they can't force them to do anything outside of their own will. However, once the seal has been activated, the marked no longer have a choice."

"Can it be removed?" Piett asked sharply. Gayrn hesitated.

"Only the maker of the seal can break it. But the process is . . . agonizingly painful, for both involved. And in the General's current weakened state, I would not recommend attempting such an act." He closed his eyes and shook his head apologetically. "Not to insult your intelligence, Captain, but it's too complicated to explain. You couldn't really understand. What you do need to understand is why the Ambassador was so angered by Shakir's actions. There is a reason the practice is no longer in use. After a time, overly eager and aggressive Bak'el, like Baine, began abusing the rite. They used it for sport, a sick, sadistic form of underground entertainment. Our people were decimated by the wars that arose over this. When the Counsel realized they could not tightly regulate the use of Notam'Esse, they banned it from common practice. It's now considered a form of taboo by the Bak'el." He glanced at Shakir. "Punishable by death."

Veers' eyes widen in alarm. Death? Had Shakir really taken that great a risk when she chose to save his life? Was he going to be responsible for yet another innocent's downfall? The General looked at the female with a new understanding. This stranger had defended him against a horrible threat, and now she was willing to sacrifice her life in order to continue to protect him. Gayrn was more right than he knew; Veers could never possibly understand that kind of blind sacrifice.

"So you can see," Gayrn continued quietly, his eyes still fixed on the woman, "the difficult choice Ambassador Selto is now forced to make. Should he uphold the laws of our people and sentence his own daughter to death? Or should he defy traditions and extend mercy just this once?" He sighed. "It won't be an easy choice, having to choose between the good of his people and his own flesh and blood." His eyes narrowed at the other. "Shakir . . . why did you do it?" he murmured.

Shakir didn't meet any of their gazes; she continued to stare at her feet in submissive penance. Gayrn waited patiently. When Shakir finally did speak, it was in a voice so low, so defeated, that they almost didn't hear.

"I did what I deemed necessary at the time."

"You know your mental abilities are twenty times that of Baine's," Gayrn pointed out gently. "Why didn't you just force him to leave?"

"Because the next time he was alone Baine would not stop at merely torturing him," she answered to the floor. "He would break his mind; and after that, his life." Her eyes came up, hollow eyes, devoid of any feeling. "I could not simply stand by and watch that happen."

Veers, Ozzel, Piett, and the M.E. exchanged glances; they knew there was a contest of wills at work here, and all of them knew better than to try and interfere. The rest of the conversation seemed to be carried out telepathically; while neither spoke, Veers could tell by the flickering emotions in each pair of eyes that there was an exchange of thoughts taking place. In the end, Shakir quickly blushed and looked away from the other.

"Don't be too hard on Shakir, gentlemen," Gayrn said aloud. "She is young, and she only acted in a way that she thought necessary; she cannot be faulted for that. There was no real harm done to the General, and all of the consequences for what took place will rest squarely on her own shoulders." He turned to Admiral Ozzel. "If there is nothing further, I must take Shakir back to her quarters."

Veers silently counted ten seconds before the Admiral finally shook his head. Gayrn motioned to the woman to follow. As she passed the General, she glanced up at his face with a pained expression. She didn't need to tell him what she was thinking; he could see it in her eyes. She passed by without a word and was ushered out by the Prefect.

When the door had slid shut behind them, Admiral Ozzel turned to face the others.

"Gentlemen," he said grimly, "I think we've just landed ourselves neck-deep in something we have no control over."

General Veers nodded, his eyes fixed on Sickbay's closed doors. He couldn't agree more.


	6. Chapter 6

_Author's Note:__ Sorry for the long delay. I've got a ton of stuff on my plate right now, and I got distracted. Anyways, enough with the excuses. Here's the next chapter. And again, I'm sorry if the plot totally sucks, but this is my first attempt at a Star Wars fanfic. Hopefully you guys will like it! So please read and review!_

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Chapter 6: Traitors

_Veers reeled back blindly as a dark curtain dropped over his eyes. Baine was in control of him now, and the general could feel the Bak'el's icy telepathic claws raking the inside of his skull, forcing him to release his death grip on the other's throat. But Baine didn't stop there. Veers felt his consciousness pierced by a tendril from Baine's mind, then ruthlessly torn apart. With a rush like a rising river all of his thoughts came spilling up; his memories, his hopes, his darkest fears, all were laid bare before his enemy's mental gaze. Images from his past, his most private memories, were wrenched from his subconscious with frightening ease. Every paralyzing fear, every horrific nightmare both real and imagined were pulled to the forefront of his mind. Baine was forcing him to relive every dark moment in his life. Veers was rocked to his soul. Never, not even from Darth Vader, had his mind been so thoroughly ravaged the way Baine was now._

_But Baine didn't stop there. With a sadistic smile, he lashed out again, attacking his body. Suddenly excruciating pain exploded in his head. Veers screamed. He couldn't help it; he had never felt this kind of agony ever before in his life. He collapsed to the deck, desperately fighting against Baine's hold on him, fighting against the pain, against the fear being forced on him. But it was no use; Baine was much stronger, and every feeble attempt at defense was deftly swatted away. _

_"Scream all you want, human," Veers heard the voice in his mind ringing with sadistic pleasure. "No one will hear you." Veers, half-mad with pain and humiliation, writhed on the deck helplessly. This time, he actually heard himself beg for mercy, swearing he would do whatever the other wanted if he would only make the pain stop. Baine laughed cruelly, tightening his grip. "There will be no mercy for you this time. This time, you will know what it means to challenge us." As if it were possible, the pain increased ten-fold. Every nerve ending was on fire. His limbs felt as if they were being ripped from his body. Baine was tearing his flesh apart, piece by piece. Pain filled Veers' world. He had never known anything else but pain. Pain . . . and the horrible idea that this time, he was alone. There would be no one to come to his rescue this time._

_Baine laughed manically, watching the other's suffering. This was just a game to him, a game he had to win; Veers was nothing more than a pawn to him, to his master. There was a darker purpose behind his actions, something else that he meant to accomplish._

_Veers was puzzled. This part was different. This hadn't happened. Why was it happening now?_

_Suddenly, Veers was distracted by an uncomfortable tightness building in his chest that had nothing to do with Baine's previous attacks. It grew tighter and tighter, as if someone had reached inside his chest and was trying to crush his heart. Every breath became more difficult, and he struggled against whoever was launching this concealed assault. But with each passing second it grew worse, and nothing he did could stop it. Suddenly he felt as if a red-hot iron was being pressed to his skin, and he cried out in a very different kind of pain. His mind was being attacked again, but this time by someone outside of his immediate world. Someone else's consciousness was warping his own, twisting it to suit its own purposes._

_Veers looked passed Baine to something just on the edge of his perception. Shakir was standing, still as a statue, watching the events unfolding. She didn't move, she didn't speak; she just watched, like a silent spectator. Her medallion blazed like living fire around her neck, boring into his mind, into his soul. Finally, he heard her voice echoing inside his head._

_"It is pointless to struggle, Maximilian," she told him gently. "You belong to me now."_

With a jolt General Veers abruptly snapped awake. For a single, horrifying moment, he really thought the dream was real. It lingered in front of his eyes, hideously close. But slowly it eased, wavered, and then released its hold on him. He glanced around him, reorienting himself to reality. He was alone in his quarters; _alone_, he assured himself. Baine wasn't here, and neither was Shakir. He glanced at the time piece beside his bed; the digital readout blinked 0238.

"_Shavit_," he breathed weakly. The same kriffing nightmare.

Veers rolled over on his back and forced himself to calm down. He took several deep, even breaths, trying to slow his racing pulse. A line of cold sweat ran down his back, making him shiver. _Frag_, he thought to himself, _the M.E. told me that sedative would work_. It had been three days since Baine's attack, and while the medics assured him that nothing was wrong with him, every night he had been plagued by the same nightmare. After 48 hours of little or no sleep, he'd gone back to Sickbay again; the M.E. gave him something that he assured the General would allow him to rest through the night. But apparently, it had only worked for three hours.

Knowing he wouldn't be able to go back to sleep now, Veers shakily pushed himself to his feet and crossed the room to the refresher. After splashing cold water on his face, his mind felt a little clearer. For a long time he just stood there, looking at his face in the mirror, thinking. Yes, that had been the same dream as the others. Every detail was exact every single time. But this time . . . was it his imagination, or was there something different about this dream. He distinctly remembered understanding something, something he hadn't noticed before. He closed his eyes and cast his mind back, forcing himself to focus. What was it? Something about a pawn and a darker purpose and . . . but it was all a blur.

Veers shook his head in exasperation. No. No, he must have imagined that part, a projection of his own assumptions.

A soft signal from the other room broke into his thoughts: a caller outside his quarters. Veers groaned; there wouldn't be any chance of him getting back to sleep now. Straightening himself, he turned and walked out.

"Come," he called gruffly. The door quietly slid open . . . and Veers pulled up short. He had expected perhaps one of his staff; he did not expect it to be Lady Shakir.

She stood in the doorway as still as if she'd been carved in stone. She had no entourage, no body guards; she was alone. Veers couldn't recall ever seeing her walking around the ship without some kind of protection. Her robes of state were gone as well, replaced instead by a simple pale-blue gown. She looked, to tell the truth, quite ordinary in that moment – still beautiful, but an ordinary sort of beauty. The only thing that had remained the same was her medallion.

"General," she said quietly. "May I enter?" Veers winced. He stood corrected: her confidence and power were back as well. Her voice held the same calm and strength he had heard when the Bak'el had first come aboard. He nodded stiffly but didn't speak.

Shakir made no noise as she stepped into the darkened room, but her eyes were unnervingly bright.

"You are surprised to see me here," she said after an uncomfortable silence. It wasn't a question.

"I thought the Ambassador had forbidden you to leave your quarters, pending your . . . your punishment," he answered cautiously.

"My father has granted me a reprieve," she answered, and Veers thought he saw a flash of relief in her eyes, "providing that I do not wander through this ship alone."

"And yet here you are," he pointed out. He noticed her jaw tighten at this.

"My father thinks I am still in my meditation chamber. I have very little time to spare."

"What do you want, Shakir?" Veers said forcefully. He was already exhausted, and he had no time for riddles.

She opened her mouth, hesitated, then shut it again slowly.

"May I speak with you?" she whispered. For some reason, the sound of her voice sent a cold chill down his spine; whatever she wanted to tell him, it was big.

"Of course," he acquiesced, feeling a frown cross his face. "But what –" Shakir suddenly pressed a finger to his lips, silencing his question.

"Wait!" she hissed. Her eyes unfocused for a few moments, and Veers felt something in the air shift slightly. Shakir slowly removed her hand. "There. Now we can talk without fear of discovery."

"What's this all about, Shakir?" Veers demanded. She looked hard at him, and the General felt a tendril of thought slip into his mind.

"You're angry at me." Again, it was stated as a fact, and he didn't feel obligated to answer her. She sighed. "I suppose I shouldn't blame you; I only wanted to protect you. The method was not of my choosing." Veers kept to his stony silence. After a pause, Shakir continued. "General . . . I apologize for calling on you this late, but I needed to confide in someone I know I can trust."

Veers narrowed his eyes at her.

"And so you came to me?"

Shakir's eyes glanced at her seal on his bare chest.

"Can you think of anyone I would trust more?" she murmured knowingly. Her gaze shot back up to his. "General, I don't know how to tell you this . . ." She took a deep breath. "It's Baine. He didn't kill Ensign Tiylers."

Veers felt like he'd been electrocuted. Surely he hadn't heard her correctly.

"What?"

"Baine didn't kill Ensign Tiylers," she repeated firmly. "After you were released from Sickbay I spent nearly three hours questioning him. While he confessed outright to the murder, when I pressed him for details, I found his statements to be . . . inconsistent. He told me he had left his quarters at exactly 2314. He was seen coming back at 2349. And yet the Ensign's death occurred at 2347." She watched looked at the general expectantly.

Veers had to think back; Ensign Tiylers' body was found on Deck 56, while the Bak'el delegation had been given quarters on Deck 12. He frowned. How could Baine possibly have killed Tiylers, hid his body, and then traveled the 44 decks back up to his quarters in only 2 minutes?

"General," Shakir continued significantly, "Baine couldn't even give me details on how exactly he had killed the Ensign. I have known Baine for nearly thirty years; he has an excellent memory, especially when it comes to his conquests. Why should that memory fail him now?"

Veers felt his breath freeze in his lungs as understanding hit him like a thunderclap.

"Someone set him up," he whispered. Shakir nodded.

"That is my fear as well. And there is only one way Baine could have been tricked into believing he was the murderer." Veers stiffened.

"Mind control."

Shakir took a shaky breath, but both already knew what she was about to say.

"General, I fear there is a traitor amongst my father's delegation."

Veers looked away, thinking furiously. She was right, of course; only a fool would outright confess to a crime as horrendous as murder. And Baine was no fool; hot-tempered and arrogant, but not a fool.

"Who could it be?" he wondered, talking mostly to himself. Shakir was also thinking hard.

"It has to be someone with a high rank," she mused after a heavy silence. "For the Bak'el, political power is a reflection of personal power, and convincing someone they did something without a Seal is extremely difficult."

"Your father?" Shakir seemed appalled at the very idea.

"Never! He was the one who approached the Council with the proposal to negotiate with your Galactic Empire. He would never risk open war with Humans; he has said this many times. Besides, he was with me in our quarters when your officer was killed."

"Then there is only one other prominent member of the delegation that could be the culprit." His gaze turned to ice. "Prefect Gayrn."

Shakir's jaw dropped in shock.

"_Gayrn?_" she whispered incredulously. "But . . . he is my father's closest friend! He has been serving as his advisor since before I was born! He wouldn't do such a thing!"

"Shakir, consider the facts. Who was the first Bak'el to arrive at the storage locker where Ensign Tiylers' body was found? Who was the one who agreed with me that Baine's behavior had become erratic and suspicious since your arrival? Who volunteered to join our investigation team?"

"He wouldn't . . ." Shakir moaned in a pained voice.

"And there was one other thing," Veers pressed. "When your father was chastising you for Sealing me, Gayrn didn't react at all; I watched him study the door with careful neutrality." He lowered his voice. "It was almost as if . . . as if he expected it to happen."

Shakir looked almost as shaken as she had been when her father had turned on her in Sickbay. Discovering there was a traitor among her own people was horrifying enough for her, but to be faced with the possibility of that traitor being someone she trusted and admired all her life was devastating. She swayed unsteadily on her feet until Veers was afraid she would faint. At last she rallied and pulled herself together.

"We can't go to my father with this," she said in a trembling voice. "We have no proof, and my father would never believe that his closest advisor is a traitor." She started moving away. "We will have to begin our own quiet investigation into this matter."

"Shakir, wait." Veers gripped her arms and held her still. "There is still one thing that doesn't make sense: assuming for the moment that Gayrn is a traitor, what would he stand to gain by stirring up trouble on the Executor and blaming Baine for it? He can't be doing it for sport; he would be risking war with the Empire. And he can't be doing it to simply overthrow your father. So what's left?"

Shakir considered, then slowly shook her head.

"I don't know," she admitted. "It is just one more mystery we must solve." Her head jerked to the side, her eyes gazing at something Veers couldn't see. "My father is wondering where I am. I should go." She gracefully disengaged from Veers' arms and rushed to the door. But before she opened it, she turned back to the general with a curious look on her face.

"General, did I come here unescorted to speak with you tonight?"

Veers shook his head gravely.

"I don't see how that's possible, Lady Shakir. You were in your quarters meditating while I was in mine asleep." He cocked an eyebrow at her. "We couldn't have met secretly, and we certainly were not discussing traitors."

Shakir's expression relaxed, and she gave him a small smile.

"Thank you, General," she whispered. "Good night." And with a breath of movement, she was gone.

Veers stood there, staring at the empty doorway for a long time, deeply disturbed by what had just taken place. So, the Bak'el's sue for peace was just a ploy after all. But if that was the case, what was Gayrn's true intent? What could he possibly want out of all of this? He wouldn't be so foolish as to attempt to wrest the throne away from Ambassador Selto; the general had seen first-hand the power that Selto wielded – almost on a level with Lord Vader himself. But if it wasn't for power, what was left? He would have to think about that.

But the dead of night was no time to worry about plots and murders. Veers suddenly felt incredibly tired, and he managed to stumble back to his bunk before – for the first time in days – he fell into a heavy, dreamless sleep.


End file.
